What to do...
I'll look it up.
Just ten steps they say?

That's all it takes?
They're kidding, right?
I'll look at it anyway.

One
Don't tell him that you're miserable.
Don't let him see your pain.
Keep his spirits up,
And don't let him see
That you miss him more each day.

Two
If you're engaged, or committed
Always try to remember:
He's doing this not only for himself
But for you
And your future together.

Three
Encouragement is key, now.
Let him think you're doing okay.
Don't let him know
That you're depressed.
"I'm fine, I promise." you'll have to say.

Four
First he'll go through boot camp,
Then after that is school.
His job will depend
On where he is,
Which might not be near you.

Five
The Navy is very demanding
So don't expect contact right away
He's probably busy;
He's worse off than you;
Give him a bit of a break.

Six
Try to write him every day,
Even if he says not to.
It'll feel like
A conversation, of sorts,
Even if his replies are few.

Seven
Nothing colorful on the letters,
Nothing girly or cute.
If his commander sees that,
He'll be made fun of,
And given more push-ups to do.

Eight
This step says to just relax,
Find a hobby, don't wait and sit.
Do something, do anything,
Keep yourself busy,
It'll be over before you know it.

Nine
Keep in touch with his family;
They are suffering too.
Chances are
They've been with him longer
And are hurting twice as much as you.

Ten
Stay faithful to him, always.
Don't be the girl that roams.
Be fair to your sailor,
Tell him you love him,
And you're waiting for him to come home.

Ten steps is all it takes, they say.
Ten steps and you'll be fine.
Even with ten steps to take,
I'll miss you dearly, sailor of mine.

We live.
We hope to love.
We die.
When we die,
will this world end up being what we had hoped it would be?
I want to live.
But I need to figure out what that means first.
I've been taught to believe in God.
I think I do.
I haven't really figured out what God means though.
When I think about it now I suppose I might not.
I don't want to understand everything.
I try not to ask for much.
But there are some things I suppose I would like to understand.
Do I really need to spend my life trying,
so hard to please this unseen entity,
just to get to "eternal happiness"?
I'm tired of hearing the excuse,
"God would be angry with you"
just to get our children to treat each other with care and kindness.
I believe in faith,
I don't believe what it's turning into though.
I don't want to just have to believe in God.
I want to believe in this life.
I want to believe in the earth,
the sun,
the stars,
one another.
And when my time comes,
whenever that may be.
whether he is there or not,
I hope that I was the best person that I could be.
Because in the end,
we only have ourselves,
and I don't want to end up with a "me" that I can't live with,
because if eternal life does come after this.
I don't think I could survive.

We sit in this room talking and laughing
No judgement, no secrets
And a large box of M & M's shared among friends
I cherish each word and every obnoxious chortle
Every anecdote, which fills this space
I cling to this moment and wish for it to endure
While we sit in our private sector of the world
Set aside from the foundation shattering headlines and news bulletins
We neglect the impending deadlines created by worldly demands
For a moment nothing on earth matters

Hiding my feelings is a craft I have mastered
Steering my emotions to make people believe what they are ready to assume
Concealing even the most basic instincts
Convincing myself it’s for the best
But when no one gets to know who you really are
Life can get awfully lonely
I’m going insane trying to maintain
The sideshow distracting people from seeing myself

How disgusting is this World we live in?
Because I know I am not the only person
Keeping their thoughts from the surface
I am not dark and twisted
I am just a person looking for love
From someone who loves me back
And I don’t want people to hoot and holler for me
I’m perfectly happy with no one giving a ****
Just don’t bring your picket signs into my personal life
Because I don’t protest your love for another
I’m not attempting to do anything radical
I’m not even trying to change the World
I just want to love a man
And not be ashamed to say it

You could learn a lot about a person by whether or not they like rollercoasters.
A dream told me that once.
So when I woke up I asked people what they thought.
I didn’t know how to decipher their answers
Until recently.
There are two types of people in this world
Those whose chaos is consistent
Their weekends are filled because they don’t have time to listen; they just have time to do.
Most of them smoke (not all) because filling their lungs is the next best thing to filling their hearts.
Patience is unbeknownst to them.
Life is always playing a game of catch up, because they move too quickly to understand
that good things come to those who wait.
They hate rollercoasters. The track doesn’t lie straight; they can handle the speed but not the turns.
Then there are those whose chaos comes in bouts.
They lead life in an endless line of day to day
They lock windows during thunderstorms
Afraid of what the sky might share
These are the ones to be cautious of.
When their hectic hits, it’s a ******* typhoon
No amount of alcohol and cigarettes can contain them.
Rollercoasters are for them, because they’ve grown used to crazy coming in twists.
They are patient souls
Life doesn’t need to prove itself to them.
They are content with short weekends and long weeks.
I don’t know if all of this is true.
Perhaps I’m deciphering it all wrong
But you could still learn a lot about a person by whether or not they like rollercoasters.
I love them.

Where do the dreams that aren't remembered go?
You know those dreams,
the ones that you wake up having a vague idea about,
yet you can't seem to remember it in its entirety.
Where do they go?
Do they go to dream purgatory,
because they weren't good enough to be remembered?
I guess the same goes for people.
All of those lost souls,
who never had anyone.
No one to care for them,
and no one to remember them.
It's my biggest fear.
Being forgettable.
The idea of living my entire life,
just to be forgotten when I die,
it terrifies me.
That isn't my only fear though,
I'm afraid of other things too,
like:
rejection,

                   society,

                                 my own reflection.
However,
next time I lay down to sleep,
I will try my hardest to remember those dreams,
because I know someday,
I will be one of them.
Sitting with the worry of
Being forgotten,
lonely,
orphaned.
Waiting patiently for the night to pass
and another opportunity to rise,
so that maybe this time,
I'll be good enough.
Memorable enough.

I like to paint.
I like to paint stars.
I like to paint cats.
I like to paint words.
I like to paint life.
I suppose,
that's what it all is.
Everything I paint is life.
I'm not good at it.
It just helps me release.
Giving color to the sad,
blank,
lonely sheet of paper.
Painting everything I ever wanted to be.
When I was little,
I wanted to be a dinosaur.
Probably not the dinosaur you're thinking of.
I should be more specific.
I wanted to be Barney's wife.
Then one day I was told it would never happen.
I think that was the day I lost my color.
That was also the year I had heard,
for the first time,
Santa didn't exist.
I was 6.
Not even a decade old,
and here I am starting to learn the ugly truths of life.
I brushed it off,
and convinced myself they were lying.
He had to exist.
I needed him to exist.
To be honest though,
I remember that day.
Very vividly.
I went home and crawled into my bed and cried,
a lot.
I think that was the day I stopped believing in magic.
Then I grew up.
And realized a lot about this life.
If Santa didn't exist,
then how could God?
Was I being fed the same ******* about him,
as I was about the Tooth Fairy,
and Santa Claus,
and the Easter Bunny?
I mean *******,
we tell our kids not to lie,
yet we instill this false hope of magic in their heads.
Hoping one day they find out for themselves,
so we don't have to break it to them.
I wish I had just kept my mouth shut,
I wish I had never told anyone about my dreams
of being a big purple dinosaur.
Maybe then I wouldn't have to paint so much.
Because as much as I don't want to admit it,
the day we learn the truth about life,
is the day we are drained of our color,
and we turn into those,
blank,
lonely,
sad,
pieces of paper.
And there we will remain,
patiently waiting for some good news,
some color,
to fill our plain pages,
knowing deep down,
that happening,
is as likely as me growing up and marrying a big purple dinosaur.